The atheist folks are so angry and bitterAs heaven itself they denyThey fight against death; I am gladly a quitter;I’m happily waiting to die.

They see beauty on earth, or they look through the HubbleAt galaxies strewn through the sky,What a miserable lot—why, it’s not worth the trouble—I’m happily waiting to die.

When loved ones pass on, why, the atheists grieve themI can’t for a moment see why;There are stories of heaven—why can’t they believe them?I’m happily waiting to die.

The atheists all must be daft or deludedThey listen to me and they sighI’ve looked—not around, but inside, and concludedI’m happily waiting to die.

You know, it doesn’t take much translation to turn a perfectly ordinary sermon into the rants of Jim Jones, Charles Manson, or Marshall Applewhite. “Life everlasting”, that extraordinary reward that comes after this miserable existence here on earth, sounds so wonderful. Golly gosh, let’s all go gentle into that dark night!

Except, it’s not just a lie, it’s an insult. My brother died this year; are his daughters supposed to be happy that their daddy is in an even better life now than the mundane one he stumbled through with them? How much happier he must be, lounging around adoring a deity instead of working in the garden with them.

No wonder people like Tim Moyle find that all atheists are angry. I suppose if horseflies or mosquitos were to describe humans in one word, it would be “slappy”.

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Comments

It's an interesting poem you have here, especially because the strength of religious conviction correlates with willingness to try experimental medical techniques on terminal illness and refusal to accept a terminal diagnosis.